through the stains and through the cracks
by emmaswanskillian
Summary: It hurts her everywhere, a physical pain that spreads and threatens to crush her, because she knows that he cares so much for her, knows that he would do anything for her and her family (he already has). But that doesn't mean they won't crash and burn. It doesn't mean that they won't catch fire like lighting a match to gasoline, destroying each other in the wake.


**_Written for a friend over on Tumblr for her birthday :) _**

_trying to live and love  
with a heart that can't be broken  
is like trying to see the light  
with eyes that can't be opened  
yeah, we both carry baggage  
we picked up on our way  
so if you love me, do it gently  
and I will do the same  
we may shine, we may shatter  
we may be picking up the pieces here on after  
we are fragile, we are human  
we are shaped by the light we let through us  
but we break fast, 'cause we are glass_

The night after she went back in time and nearly erased her existence, Emma sleeps later than she has in ages. When she finally wakes, the sun is already up in the sky, which makes the chill in the air seem even stranger. Habit makes her sigh as she crawls out from underneath her covers and gets ready almost mechanically, but then her brain catches up with her body and she swears her heart stops.

She went back in time, with Killian.

She got her parents together, with Killian.

And then she'd kissed him outside of Granny's diner, his hand anchored in her hair and a light in her heart. A smile pulls up the corners of her lips and suddenly, the coolness surrounding her isn't quite as cold. She feels warm, her veins buzzing with the feeling as if her blood is an all-consuming fire.

Fire destroys, though, and she knows it, but for now, she pushes the knowledge to the back of her mind.

Downstairs is buzzing just as it was the night before, everyone still on a high from the previous day's activities, and her eyes find him almost immediately, sitting in a booth across from her son. They're smiling at each other, lost in their own little world as Killian appears to explain something to Henry, who nods attentively. It's a sight that makes her stomach flip a few times, halting her movement for a moment. When she recovers and finally makes her way over to them, she slides into the booth beside Killian, the heat from his body addicting enough to make her scoot a little closer.

"What are you up to?" she asks, smiling at Henry.

"Nothing," he says casually, though his grin in Killian's direction suggests otherwise. She shoots the man sitting next to her a skeptical look, but she lets the subject drop anyway, ordering herself a coffee from Ruby.

"You slept late, love," Killian comments conversationally, and her heart stutters (_Has his voice always been that velvety and smooth?). _

"I was tired," she offers as excuse, shrugging a little at him. It's easy to fall into conversation with him and Henry, as if there wasn't another soul around. And when they walk Henry to school (_"No, you can't skip - you're already behind")_, Killian takes her hand almost naturally. Their fingers link together easily, as if his are the lock and hers the key, fitting perfectly.

If Henry notices, he doesn't say anything.

* * *

He kisses her goodnight at her door, only hesitating a moment after their parting words before lifting his hand to cup the back of her neck and bring his lips to hers. Her body reacts stronger than she expected (_Seriously, didn't they already have enough sexual tension between them?_) and she presses her body close to his, wrapping her arms around his waist. His hook rests on her hip and she's all too aware of the cold metal that sparks a curiosity in her (_How many excuses can he really find to use it? She suddenly desperately wants to know_).

Her name falls from his lips in the split second that their mouths aren't fused together, the four letters a breathy whisper that makes it sound much sweeter than any other time she's heard it. His tone is low and husky and the sound of it, paired with the way his hook is touching the revealed skin between her shirt and pants, makes desire pool low in her belly. She knows she should pull away, that they need to back up before this goes too far, too soon, but he's so easy to melt into, their bodies already becoming attuned to each other. Her mind is cursing at her that they need to take things slower than this (_Yes, he gave up his ship for her but this is still all new and they shouldn't push it_). She indulges herself for one more moment, holding him even tighter as she kisses him once, _twice_. When she pulls away, peeling her body off of his, he simply smiles at her and presses one more kiss to her tingling lips.

It's almost as if he doesn't know the effect he's had on her, but there's a small twinkle in his eyes that lets her know he most certainly does.

"Goodnight, love," he whispers into the still air between them, running his thumb across her jaw and making a shiver race down her spine. _Stupid, sexy, pirate_. "I shall see you in the morning."

She nods, letting her hands slip from his hips.

_One step at the time, and maybe she can do this. _

"Yeah," she tells him, the corners of her mouth pulling up at their own accord. "I will definitely see you in the morning."

And part of her knows that it's good, _too good_, and that just because it's easy _now_, doesn't mean it will stay that way. Regardless, she has a smile on her face when she drifts off to sleep that night, thinking of the way his lips fit over hers and the way his hook felt on her bare skin.

* * *

Regina finally comes out of whatever hiding she was doing a day later, and Emma _hates_ that she pulls her hand from Killian's when she sees the woman, _wishes_ she didn't care enough to stay close to the heat that radiates from him. Instead, she puts half a foot between them in the bench and immediately looks away when Regina's eyes meet hers.

Is it even fair that Emma have this newfound happiness, when she's unknowingly taken the exact same away from Regina?

_No_, a voice inside her head sneers.

Karma will probably catch up to her, if history is any indication. She knows that the period of bliss will end eventually, that the monsters she's shoved into a closet for now will find a way to break down the door. It's really only a matter of time.

She scoots a little farther away, wishing she had missed the flash of hurt in Killian's eyes.

That only makes her feel even worse.

* * *

Telling her parents winds up being easier than she thought. She pulls them aside about three days after their return (_"I know it's a bad time with the weather being so crazy, but..."_), and lets them know that her and Killian are trying things out. She tries not to feel the heat of Regina's gaze on the back of her head, but it's burning a hole in her skin, impossible not to notice.

(_It's not her problem, really it isn't, but she hates the way it makes her feel all the same._)

Thankfully, both of her parents smile at her. Mary Margaret looks out the window with her lips pursed for just a moment, but then she nods. When Killian comes in five minutes later and slides into the booth next to her to tell her that he and the dwarves discovered that the freezing temperatures and snow end at the town line, they smile at him, too.

Emma can't help the somersault her heart does as they accept him in with a warmth (_which they need- seriously, why is it freezing?_)that surprises her. Even so, it takes less effort than she expected. At first, she thinks that it's a combination of luck and good timing, but then she realizes that he was already an integral part of their lives.

Letting him into their family was just one more step.

* * *

It's a week later that her luck and good timing (and _anything else playing in her favor_) finally run out.

She almost lets herself believe that maybe this time really _is_ different. Emma thinks that maybe, just maybe, she really is past all of the running away from anything that resembles a serious relationship or something that she can give her heart to. Then, one night when Killian kisses her goodnight at her door (and _he tells her she's "beautiful - bloody amazing in every way"_), she almost invites him in and her entire being jerks to a stop. She barely manages to stutter out a "Goodnight" before closing the door and sliding down it, burying her face in her hands as tears start falling down her cheeks.

She should have known better to believe that anything for her would be that simple. As soon as the thought of him possibly staying the night had arose, something inside her had screamed _No, don't_, so loud in her mind that she was powerless to do anything about it. She knows why, of course. Even thinking for a moment about inviting him inside makes it seem achingly real (_It's stupid, isn't it real enough already? He gave up his ship for her and she's never told anyone the things she's told him_). And unfortunately, every relationship between him and Neal (_Other than Walsh, but that definitely does not count_)has reached a point where it's been too serious.

That's usually when she takes off. The excuses start falling past her lips in a flow much too quick for anyone to keep up with, and she bows out gracefully before she _really_ gives herself the chance to get hurt. It's just a habit, a stupid, _stupid_ habit, but it's suddenly all she can think about. He has hurt her already before, even if he didn't mean to. He has the ability and she knows she's given him enough of her (_thoughts, fears, hopes, everything_) that he could easily tear her apart.

_It doesn't mean he will_, she tries, but she can't even humor the thought. She just suddenly wants to sleep, and sleep until all the fear and pain has disappeared. She wants to just let her mind be thoughtless until she can pull him into her heart all the way, instead of letting him take one step in and then pushing him two steps back out.

Because she's afraid, _always_ afraid, that letting someone in so completely will end badly. She'll mess up, _and he'll leave_, or he'll get bored without the thrill of the chase, _and he'll leave_, or he'll realize she isn't what he's thought, _and_ _he'll leave_.

And she doesn't want that to happen with him, _not him_.

"_Damn it_," she mutters, wiping furiously at the wetness on her cheeks and neck. She _can't_, there's so much that could go wrong, so many things that could crumble because of her, or because she's too broken, too messed up for even him (_and hell, he's not without issues either_).

He's probably sitting in his own room now, wondering what had happened or what he had done wrong to make her act like that, jerking away from him and slamming the door in his face.

_Nothing_, she wants to tell him. _You haven't done a single thing wrong_.

It's her, _always _her.

* * *

When Emma sees Killian the next day, he doesn't seem to be affected by her distance. She can't seem to find it in her to reach over and take his hand, as simple as the action may seem, and she hates herself for it. He doesn't deserve for her to get scared now, after all that they've been through and all that he's done. It's unfair to him that he cares so much for a woman who has a tendency to run away.

_Better safe than sorry_, she thinks - _better safe than spending weeks crying on a bathroom floor and feeling stupid for ever believing that there was a chance for her to be happy_.

Old habits die hard, and this one is hanging on with a nasty vengeance.

In her heart, she knows that this time is much different, but yet when he reaches over to press a kiss to her lips, she gives him her cheek instead and pretends not to see his look of confusion. Her mind is the problem, stuck in a rut that she put herself in long ago to keep herself from getting hurt.

Now, she's trapped at the bottom of it with no way out, struggling to find an escape (_she has to at least try to fight it, for him_) and failing every time. Dirt slides, rocks fall, and every time she thinks she's found a way to climb up, she falls right back down.

And she knows with painful clarity that he deserves _so_ much better than that.

* * *

He finally brings it up a day or two later, after a meeting of more hopeless guesses as to what could be causing the sudden wintery mess outside their windows. She hadn't expected him _not_ to notice, of course, but when he follows her to her room (_When is she going to stop staying at a hotel, anyway?_), she can practically _feel_ the tension oozing from him and her breath backs up into her lungs before he's even said a word.

"What's wrong?" he asks simply, and for a moment she's tempted to play dumb, acting as if she isn't sure what he's talking about. When she turns to look at him, though, all she sees is _hurt_, which effectively stops any jokes she was going to make. The comment she'd had prepared dies on her tongue, and she deflates completely, sighing and leaning back against her door. The hallway wall across from her is bland, but it's what she focuses on when she finally finds her voice.

"It isn't you, I promise." It's all she can conjure up to say, but she feels as though she must reassure him that he's done _nothing_ wrong, nothing at all.

"Well, you've been acting strangely toward me for days now," he murmurs, and she can hear the agony in his tone. She presses further into the door, wishing it could absorb her straight into her room. It hurts her everywhere, a physical pain that spreads and threatens to crush her, because she _knows_ that he cares so much for her, _knows_ that he would do anything for her and her family (_he already has_).

But that doesn't mean they won't crash and burn. It doesn't mean that they won't catch fire like lighting a match to gasoline, destroying each other in the wake. They're both volatile, both grenades easy to set off.

He's still looking at her, waiting and expectant, patient as ever.

She sighs, swallowing past the lump forming in her throat. "It's just... This is usually... the point when... when I start running. Whatever we have is... serious, and that still scares me a little. It doesn't matter how much progress I've made or how many times I realize that I'm safe." _And loved_. "It's second nature now for me to... to just stop whatever relationship there is before it gets to the point that..." She falters out, hating herself for sounding so weak, hating herself for making him go through this. "I don't want to get hurt." She can't look at him, can't see anything through the burning agony that won't let up. "And I don't want to hurt _you_."

He hums as if he understands, and when she looks up at him, the intensity of his pain has shifted, but it still shatters her heart to see it. "You don't have to run, Emma," he tells her, and she nods because she _knows_, knows that what he says is true in every piece of her except for the one part of her mind and the shattered pieces of her heart that she still hasn't been strong enough to pick up.

Turns out, one step at the time isn't going slow enough.

"I know I don't, Killian. I realize that... this... is different than anything else I've been in. I know that I don't have to run away from you, that I shouldn't be so afraid of getting hurt with you, even if... you have... you have more power to hurt me right now than anyone ever has." Something flashes across his features, but he schools them quickly. "But it's just a habit that's been built over years and years of heartbreak, so part of me is still waiting for something to go wrong because I've never had a situation where I've been given a reason not to." Her eyes are stinging, moisture gathering in them that she's desperately trying to reign in. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice breaking just the slightest.

He shakes his head and then his arms are wrapping around her, pulling her into his chest that feels strong and secure. As soon as his lips press against her forehead, she squeezes her eyes shut and relaxes into him, and suddenly that's all she needs, to feel him wrapped around her. "I'm sorry," she says again, trying to focus on the way his fingers trace across the small of her back.

"You have been given every reason to be distrustful of love," he begins, and she tries not to let her heart backpedal at the word "love" falling from his lips in regards to them. She almost breaks at the sound, almost pulls away before she catches herself and holds him tighter, willing herself to stay. "This is just something that we will work through, and we _will_ work through it. I know that, because if you were going to run, you would not have just told me the truth. You would have just ran."

He sounds so sure, so confident in his words that she can't help but believe him. And he's right, so right that it stings. She nods into his chest, reminding herself that he's here, that he isn't going anywhere, that she doesn't need to run.

Not this time.

The next night, Emma invites him into her room after only a brief battle with herself. Their kisses start out sweet, but as she expected, heat builds and a fire starts low in her belly, spreading until it consumes her completely. His kisses turn bruising as his hand slips underneath her shirt, but she doesn't mind.

(_Her own are already pushing his coat off of his shoulders._)

It feels much too right when his weight presses her into the mattress, his lips hot and burning against every inch of her skin, his hand gripping her bare hip as he moves over her. Afterward, when he's already fast asleep, her feet are itching to touch the floor and run, pulling her away from the warm form sleeping next to her.

_He's here_.

_He isn't going anywhere_.

_She doesn't need to run_.

So, she tangles her legs with his instead, silencing the qualms in her brain that so desperately wish to stick to habit. He hums into her hair when she snuggles closer, the sound rushing through her and warming her entire body. As she makes up her mind to stay, to _always_ stay with him as he will with her, she swears her heart skips a single beat only to begin beating in time with the one pumping beneath her ear.

* * *

They finally figure out the source of the cold weather a week later (_Elsa, seriously? Is there anyone who is _**not**_ real?_), and apparently taming her is going to be more difficult than it was in the family friendly Disney movie.

_Of course_.

They only manage to actually see her once, and she yells something that nobody can hear before disappearing. Luckily enough, Mr. Gold recognizes her and immediately turns on Emma and Killian.

"It appears, Ms. Swan," he says, and fear shoots through every vein in Emma's body at how anxious he suddenly looks. "That you did bring back more than a rescued prisoner."

_Of course_.

Regina sucks in a breath and Emma just can see her fists clench. Just when she thought that maybe her anger had subsided, it gets brought right back up.

_Of course_.

* * *

"Nobody can get close enough to her to actually do anything useful," David is saying, but Emma's too distracted to really listen, glancing around her and looking for the dark hair that belongs to her pirate. He's nowhere to be seen, however, and her heart sinks just the slightest. She can't help wondering where he is, worry making it hard to focus. There's _a freaking ice storm_ whirling around outside caused by an emotionally unstable ice queen, and the one time she desperately needs him to be where she can see him, he's gone.

"Have you seen Killian?" Emma asks, knowing and not caring that she just interrupted her father.

David's brow furrows. "No, not since earlier today."

She's worried, so _unbelievably_ worried, because what good is finally silencing the voice in her head that tells her to run (_well, mostly_) when he goes and gets himself killed in an ice storm?

She's just about ready to trudge out into the ice and snow to find him (_and she better find him, or she'll find some way to bring him back just so she can kill him again_) and berate him for being out in this mess when he walks into the door, brushing snowflakes off of his coat and hair. There's a small part of her that wants to _hit him_ for making her worry, but the relief flooding through her overpowers it. Three steps is all it takes for her to be close enough to wrap her arms around his neck and mold her body to his. He's freezing, and it only makes her hold tighter.

"I was worried," she whispers, willing him to be warm (_she's still learning that having magic is useful more often than not_) and sighing when heat starts returning to his body.

He presses his lips to her hair and simply holds her in return.

_He's here_.

_He's not going anywhere_.

"I'm sorry, love."

* * *

"_Where were you_?" Emma asks, trying to control the shaking in her voice that's spread to her body as she clings to the leather of his coat. He has _got_ to stop disappearing like this, or she _swears_.

"I was just around the block, checking on something that one of the dwarves had claimed to see. Turns out it was nothing," he says, as if it explains everything and immediately erases her concerns.

"I didn't know where you were," she stresses, leaning back to look at him and making sure he's paying attention. "You've got to stop worrying me like that."

He sighs almost indignantly. "I'm just trying to make sure that the town, and you and Henry and everyone else in it, is as safe as can be, as safe as a one handed pirate can keep it, at least."

She hears the self demeaning tone he's using, and she presses her lips to his to silence it. "I just don't want you to get hurt," she tells him firmly when they part, holding tightly to either side of his face.

His eyes flash but he covers it up, shaking his head. "Well, I'm certainly not going to let you go out in all of this, savior or not."

And he's only being protective, but heat floods her face and neck anyway. "And _I_ don't want _you_ out in it, Killian," she pushes, fighting back the anger trying to well up in her, and finally, _finally_, he nods almost reluctantly and pulls her body back into his.

"Alright, love."

* * *

"I'm just going to go look around and see if there's any hints as to why she's so upset. It's no big deal. Maybe she'll even talk to me. Just... Just watch Henry for me, please."

Killian is looking at her like she's got two heads, and any other day she would focus on how blue his eyes are or the curve of his set jaw, but right now he's angry at her. "There's no _bloody_ way I'm letting you go out into this, especially on your own, Swan. That storm is practically demonic."

Emma rolls her eyes. _You can't come with me because every time you're out in this, I can't think of anything else_. "You're being overdramatic, Killian." _There is no way I'm losing you_. "I have magic. I can handle myself." _I'm doing this one alone_.

He watches her for the longest time, and she can see the battle raging behind his eyes as he thinks over her words. "You want to do this alone."

There's hurt in his tone and it tears into her heart, tugging and pulling and cutting until she feels like the organ will crumble and collapse in on itself inside her chest. "Yes," she says, trying not to let the anguish show in her voice.

_No._

This isn't what she wants, to push him away just because she can't find it in herself to put him in harm's way. She doesn't want him to think that she wants to be alone, to leave him behind when she knows she needs him more than anything.

_It's easier._

Does that matter?

She can't let him get hurt. If he got hurt while he was with her, she would never forgive herself.

(_Every time she thinks about it, she has this piercing flashback to watching him drown, powerless to do anything about it, fighting back the panic rising in her chest at the thought of losing him.)_

"Yes," she repeats, but there is no conviction behind the word and she knows he sees the lack of it clearly.

"You're lying."

Mental curses stream through her thought process, and no matter how strongly she tries to push past the emotion crushing her chest, it still manages to come through. A single, traitor tear slips from her eye and she swears out loud, running a hand through her hair and turning away from him.

"Killian, we need to get this figured out and stopped. It's been going on long enough, and I can do that better without having to worry about where Henry is, or where you are." It's because she cares that she's doing this, he must understand that.

_He has to_.

"Darling, I understand that you're accustomed to doing everything alone." She opens her mouth to interject, because she knows that he's going to accuse her of running, and that is _not_ what she's doing. "Let me speak, please," he requests, and his tone is so serious that she nods and waits for him to continue.

"I know all too well the feeling of always wanting to be alone, because it's easier to only be responsible for yourself. You have rarely had someone in your life that has went against that, and I know that the circumstances you've faced have made this a habit for you. You've been alone for so long that you are not even aware of what it's like when someone decides that they are not going to leave you, and that's why we're here." He's calmer now, talking to her in a voice that pulls at her resolve, piece by piece.

_And this is why I've always ran_, she thinks._ Running away makes things like this avoidable_.

She swallows thickly and refocuses on him, forcing that voice away. "I know, and I'm not running, I swear."

He nods. "I believe you. But that isn't what this is about. You're so used to being alone, doing things alone, that you stubbornly continue to attempt doing so, but you are _not_ alone anymore, love. You aren't ever going to be alone, so no matter how hard you may try to convince yourself of the contrary, to go out on your own to face evils or whatever there is to face on any day, it is _not_ going to happen anymore. I'm _here_, I'm not going anywhere, so please, stop acting as if there is any possibility that I'm ever going to let you go out into this storm by yourself."

Her heart is racing, beating so quickly she fears it may self combust. She takes a shaky breath and lets it out as slowly as possible. He's _right_, he's right and she _knows_ it and he's _stupid_ but she _might_ just love him. A tear slips down her cheek and she nods, taking a step closer to him. "So you're saying that I'm stuck with you."

The grin that pulls up his features is enough to make another tear fall, leaving a trail of warmth on her cheek that is quickly replaced by the heat of his hand wiping it away. "Very much so, darling. I'm afraid there's not a bloody thing you can do about it."

She gives him a half smile, trying to breathe normally even though he's looking at her as if she placed the moon, sun, and stars into his sky. "Okay then," she says, taking his hand in hers and squeezing his palm. "I'm sorry, Killian. I might actually be terrible at this relationship stuff."

He shrugs, with a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes, and then kisses her, his lips pressing softly and reinforcing his point.

_You're not alone_.

_You never will be_.

And with sudden, aching clarity, she realizes that she was, in fact, kidding herself when she tried to get him to let her go out after Elsa alone.

But then, she's okay with that.

_Actually_, _immensely _okay.

"Now," he begins, holding her hand tightly in his, and she _knows_ that he won't let go. "Let's go stop an ice queen, shall we, love?"

* * *

It takes a little longer than she expected, but a few days later they've calmed Elsa down enough to at least get her to stop it from snowing _all the damn time_.

(_She will not think about how she almost lost him from a frozen heart, and she certainly won't think about how kissing him made him warm again_.)

(_Except it's all she can think about._)

Emma decides that calling the woman emotionally unstable is an understatement, but with her sister and Kristoff randomly showing up (_"I'm done asking questions and being surprised. I don't care how you're here, just fix this, please."_)_,_ it helps things along quite nicely.

When she opens the door to her new apartment (_finally_), Killian on her heels, he follows her in without question and Henry barely blinks at his presence, already accustomed to having the pirate around more often. There is little talk, all of them so unbelievably exhausted that collapsing into bed and sleeping past dawn tomorrow sounds too good to be true. Even so, as soon as she snuggled into Killian's chest, all she can see is his eyelids struggling to stay open, his hands so cold that no amount of friction or magic can bring warmth back to them. Part of her hates herself for letting him get struck by Elsa in the first place, and the other part knows that he would have jumped in front of _anything_ to save her.

"You're an idiot," she whispers into the dark of her room, her hand holding his tight enough that she's _sure_ it's hurting him.

"I know," he tells her, his own voice quiet and still. "But I'm _your_ idiot."

She's sure that the comment was meant to be flirtatious, but he's much too tired to put the needed sass behind it. As a result, it winds up making her heart jump in her chest, toward his like the north end of a magnet to its polar opposite. Pressing closer, she kisses his neck and sighs. "Yeah, you are." She hesitates, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry I make it so difficult."

"You've absolutely nothing to apologize for." And now it's he who pauses, and she hears him inhale unsteadily, the exhale fanning across her forehead. "We're going to be alright, Swan."

"You think so?" Her voice cracks slightly and she keeps her eyes closed tight.

"Wholeheartedly." The assuredness in his tone is one that she's used to hearing, but it still pushes its way into her heart and mind, and she knows that he's right.

There's a silence, with the words that she wants to say stuck in her throat. She _shouldn't_ say it because this is still new, because it's too fast, because there's no way she's ready to.

But she almost lost him, and she's not alone because of him, and she's never wanted anyone around as much as she does him.

"I love you, Killian," she murmurs into his skin, branding the words there and waiting as he hums in contentment. He knows, _of course_ he knows (_True Love's Kiss certainly doesn't lie_).

He doesn't voice that, though. Instead, his lips find her hair, and even though the pressure is gentle, she can feel the love of it pulsing through her body with every pump of her heart, beating perfectly in time with his. Part of her wonders if it's only recently started doing that, or if perhaps it's been doing it for ages without her noticing. "I love you, Emma Swan. _Always_."

His voice is velvet, laced with enough emotion to drown her, enough affection to make the old Emma turn around and run as far as she can go. But she wraps her arms around his body and _stays_, because finally, _finally_, her heart can fully believe the words.

And she's not so scared anymore.


End file.
